


palm to palm

by finding



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Friends With Benefits To Lovers, M/M, Romeo and Juliet References, small town AU, tinder hookup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finding/pseuds/finding
Summary: "tuesday after school?"or: Ricky breaks up with Nini. Ricky gets Tinder. Ricky matches with EJ and drives to his big country house and they fall into something like love while the snow gathers on the gravel roads.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	palm to palm

**Author's Note:**

> hello! a new short series because i simply felt like it. this one will be sad... or at least an aching melancholy. but there will be sex too! a perfect combination.

“Nini told me they’re doing Romeo and Juliet as the play this year. Except, like, it’s a musical?” Big Red says idly, staring out at the road.

Ricky opens one eye and peers at his friend. They’re sitting on the curb outside of the downtown diner, both killing time because there’s no reason to go home when it’s still light out. “Okay?”

Red shrugs. “Thought you might care just ‘cause of…”

Ricky closes his eyes and leans back on the cement, feels the gravel press into his hands. “Cause we broke up? You can say it Red, I’m not gonna fall apart or something.”

“Right, sorry. Still getting used to that,” his friend says, resting his chin on his hands. “It’s just weird, is all. Us three not being together anymore.”

Ricky thinks of them all growing up together— their kindergarten band, summers at the dirty beach on the lake, freshman prom when Ricky really _looked_ at Nini for the first time and understood why people fall in love, watching Red strike out with every girl on the basketball team, movie nights and the first time they’d all drank in Michael Breton’s pick-up truck and early mornings at the diner they sit in front of without her now. Ricky watches all the scenes of them growing up like fireworks on his eyelids, feels them burn into him.

“I bet she’ll get the lead. Juliet, or whatever,” Ricky sighs. Nini’s been the star of every show since she was born, although Ricky guesses that might partially be due to the lack of talented competition in their class of 46 people.

Red hums. “Apparently Caswell is going for Romeo.”

Ricky scoffs. “Golden boy has to prove he’s good at one more thing. _Shocking._ ”

“What other way can he demonstrate his gross superiority complex? Really, it’s not his fault that he’s attractive, good at sports, _and_ can make iambic pentameter sound sexy,” Big Red tuts.

“You think Caswell’s iambic—what was it? Iambic _whatever_ sounds sexy? Didn’t know you swung that way,” Ricky teases, cocking his head and smiling over at his friend.

Big Red doesn’t rise to the bait. Maybe he’s tired of Ricky. Or just tired of the town, the evening, the waiting-for-the-sun-to-set and the waiting-to-finally-get-out. “Still tragically heterosexual. _But,_ I know how to appreciate good form. What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse for what?”

“For staring at him every day in history,” Red says matter of factly. 

Ricky glares at him. “I don’t _stare_.”

“Sure, if we’re no longer classifying intense, longing gazes as _staring_.”

Ricky twists around to face Big Red. “He sits right in front of me, what else am I supposed to do?”

Red cocks an eyebrow. “Take notes?”

Ricky rolls his eyes. “An impossible demand. I’d much rather look at Caswell’s shit fade from his bougie barber in the city.”

“You should ask him out.”

Ricky’s mouth drops open. “I’m not going to _ask him out_. What the fuck, Red.”

Big Red throws his hands up in defense. “What? You’re bisexual and newly single. He’ll fuck anything that walks. Seems like the perfect match to me.”

“I’m not looking for a rebound.”

Red looks at him and narrows his eyes, like he’s searching Ricky’s face for something he can’t quite find. “What _are_ you looking for?”

Ricky doesn’t meet Red’s gaze. He distinctly dislikes the feeling of _being seen._ It makes his insides twist. “To keep my head down until I graduate. I just want to finish senior year and get the hell out of here.”

“And go _where_ , Ricky?” Big Red asks with the tired tone that Ricky’s painfully familiar with now. Ricky has dreams of _getting out_ and _going places_ and _making something of himself_ , but he’s keenly disinterested in practical realities like _university applications_ and _credit scores_ and _college-alternative career paths._ Red is tired of playing the role of both best-friend and academic advisor, and Ricky can tell.

Ricky shutters himself, rolls his shoulders forward and makes himself small. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Okay,” Red nods. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Ricky gives a small smile. This is what he and Red do—fight and make up, fight and make up. There’s really no other choice when you're limited for options of sane people to be friends with in a town of 5,000. Big Red drives an energy-efficient Ford Fusion instead of a truck and doesn’t call Ricky gay for wearing Vans, so he’s already better than about 80% of the guys in their class.

“I just want you to have someone, you know? Like I have Ashlyn. You deserve that,” Big Red says, trying again. After being friends for 17 years, he still likes to try to push Ricky an inch further than he’s usually willing to go.

“I don’t _want_ what you have with Ashlyn. Like, meeting the parents and playing with baby cousins together so you can pretend you’re married. It freaks me out,” Ricky shudders. He remembers watching Big Red play peak-a-boo with a very pudgy toddler at a family picnic once and feeling acutely vomit-y.

“A hook-up then,” Red offers.

Ricky laughs. “And who would you suggest I hook up with? All the girls think I’m shit in bed ‘cause I’ve been with Nini since we were kids, and I doubt there are any guys within 50 miles of this town who would admit to being seen with me.”

“You have Tinder, right?”

“Uhm,” Ricky blanches, thinking back to a drunken night right after Nini and him broke up. He’s pretty sure the first girl he matched with said “hi” and then he cried for an hour thinking about a specific brunette. “I guess. But—”

“But nothing!” Red says, clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon. Give me your phone.”

Ricky stares at his friend’s outstretched palm and considers his courses of action. After about two seconds of analysis, he decides to give in. Ricky’s been called a lot of things, but stubborn certainly isn’t one. He’s too lazy for that. “What are you—”

“Lean back on the curb. No—put your other hand back. Yeah, cock your head a little,” Red commands, holding the phone up and taking a few pictures. “Gorgeous. Stunning.”

Ricky looks down at his grey Nike sweatshirt that he’s pretty sure he stole from the lost-and-found at school. He’s not really sure “gorgeous” is the word he would use, but the pictures will certainly look better than the ones he had to use from sophomore homecoming when he first made the profile. A powder-blue suit was maybe the wrong decision in retrospect. “Do I uh—look okay?”

“Shockingly, yes,” Red says, swiping through the photos you took. “Golden hour is doing you wonders.” Ricky isn’t really sure what golden hour is, but he appreciates the compliment. Big Red works for a bit more before handing the phone back to Ricky. “Alright, get swiping.”

Ricky looks at his profile. The first photo is one Red just took. He caught Ricky with wide-eyes and his mouth slightly open. His hair is a bit messed up from the wind, and the light makes the whole thing look more soft-evening-in-the-country than sudden-photoshoot-after-school. Ricky looks _good._ It shocks him more than he thought it would. Self-confidence is a bit of a foreign feeling for him after losing the admiration of the one person whose opinion he actually cared about.

“I’d fuck you,” Red offers, voice flat.

Ricky rolls his eyes. “Thanks, dude. I can always count on you.”

“Not best friends if you haven’t given each other the old sleepover hand—”

“ _Red_ ,” Ricky says sharply. “Let’s not remember that, yeah?”

Big Red shakes his head and sighs wistfully. Ricky ignores him and goes to the main page. He’s met by the platinum blonde hair and orange tint of Chelsea Maddow. “Oh god,” he groans. “There are people from _school_ on here.”

“No shit, Ricky. About 10 people live in this town who aren’t already engaged to their high-school sweetheart.”

Ricky shudders and swipes left. He doesn’t recognize the next girl; she’s petite and has red-brown hair. She’s cute in a bookish sort of way. Ricky hesitates for a moment before swiping right. They don’t match, and he tries not to be disappointed. He really can’t afford to feel any more self-loathing than he already does.

It takes a second for Ricky to process the next profile, his heart skipping a beat.

“Uh, Red…” he starts, glancing up from his phone. “Did you change the settings? I thought I had this set to just girls.”

“Can’t afford to be picky in your circumstances,” Big Red notes, but he’s not really paying attention anymore. He’s typing rapidly on his own phone, likely something tooth-achingly sweet to Ashlyn like _ur mine forever baby can’t wait to put a ring on that finger xoxo._

“Yeah…” Ricky trails off. His finger hovers over the screen, almost touching those sky-blue eyes, $4,000 teeth, swimmer’s shoulders leading into toned arms. Ricky looks at EJ Caswell and feels his stomach twist. There’s no way that—

“You ready to go?” Big Red interrupts, slapping one hand onto Ricky’s shoulder.

Ricky quickly locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket. No reason to start the whole you-should-hookup-with-Caswell conversation that he knows Big Red is dying to have again. He lets Red throw an arm around his shoulder, and they start the walk back home. They’ve both got cars, but neither of them really wants to drive when they can tell it’s one of the last nice days before September turns to October. Ricky tries to list the things he’s happy about—he has a friend like a brother, it’s still light out until 9pm, and he’s starting to realize he might be able to exist _after-Nini._ He thinks of these things instead of the phone inside his pocket.

Really, it doesn’t cross his mind.

\--

The second Ricky gets home, he brushes past his dad in the kitchen and heads straight to his room. He throws his backpack somewhere near his unused desk, flops down on his bed, and unlocks his phone. The profile is still pulled up from earlier.

Ricky chews on the inside of his cheek as he taps through the whole profile. It’s not surprising—mostly just one ridiculously high-quality shot after another of athlete-EJ in his football jersey or boy-next-door EJ smiling with a horse. Ricky wonders why he’s even on this app; he’s pretty sure every unattached person and probably some open-minded couples have already asked EJ into their bed. At least, that’s what he’s heard. Ricky’s never properly talked to EJ besides a few classmate pleasantries.

The bio is the only confusing part of the whole thing.

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair,” Ricky reads slowly out loud to himself. He stumbles over the words, not used to their structure. He copies the text into Google and finds the quote online. _Romeo and Juliet_. Pretentious fucker.

Ricky rolls onto his back and stares at his phone. EJ stares back at him. Neither of them says anything. Ricky’s frustrated… he’d hoped EJ would make the first move.

It’s not that Ricky wants to hook up with him. It’s more that he’s curious if someone like EJ would be into someone like him (he tries to not think about what _someone like him_ means anymore). Everyone likes being wanted, especially by someone like EJ. It’s scientific curiosity, that’s all. 

His thumb hovers over the photo. He hesitates—once, twice—before finally committing. What’s Ricky have to lose anyway? He waits for a second and holds his breath before he sees it – _Match._

“No fucking way,” he mutters under his breath. EJ Caswell. He wonders if he should message first or if that looks desperate. He highly doubts that Caswell would lower himself to do it.

He types out _hey_ before quickly erasing it. _hey_ sounds stupid. _hey_ sounds like he’s trying way too hard to be casual… Unfortunately, it also sounds like the only conceivable message he could possibly send without using a pick-up line.

_hey_.

He waits a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, but EJ doesn’t respond. Probably for the best, anyways. Ricky tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, puts one arm over his eyes, and tries to sleep.

He wakes up an hour later, jolted away by the sound of his dad knocking on the door.

“Hey, uh—it’s time for dinner. Just… come down whenever you want,” his dad says hesitantly, still in that gray space between respect and command that he’s trying to navigate post-mom-leaving.

Ricky rubs a hand over his eyes and tries to find his phone in the tangle of blankets. “Sure, dad. I’ll be down in sec.” Finally, he finds it and clicks on the lock screen. There are a few messages from Red, some notifications about graded assignments he’ll probably never check, and a new message from EJ Caswell.

A new fucking message from EJ Caswell.

The beating of Ricky’s heart speeds up inexplicably, and his chest tightens. It’s the sort of anxious he hasn’t felt in a while because he hasn’t had a _crush_ on anyone in a while. Not that _this_ is a crush, but it’s the same rush of heat to his cheeks and shaking in his hands that he felt when he was last attracted to someone. Or—no, that’s not right—when he knew that someone was attracted to _him._ Ricky’s almost certain that there’s a difference between liking someone and liking the feeling of being liked by someone.

He opens the message.

_hu?_

Ricky blinks. Maybe it’s because he’s been out of the game for, well, the past five years, but he has no idea what ‘hu’ means.

_sorry?_

He waits for a minute, chewing on the cuticle on his thumbnail.

_hook up_

Ricky blanches. Hook up as in… EJ and him hook up? That seems to be the natural line of thinking that EJ would follow, but Ricky finds himself surprised by it nonetheless.

_~~i’ve never~~ _

Ricky deletes the sentence before even finishing it. He’s never hooked up with a guy before, never done _anything_ with a guy, but he doesn’t need Caswell to know that.

Except… if he _does_ want to hook up with Caswell, it seems like an important thing to address.

_i’m new to all this_

_tinder hookups i mean_

_what about hooking up with boys?_

_…that too_

Ricky hopes that comes off the right way, though he’s not sure there _is_ a right way to say, “Hey I’m newly single and looking for a rebound, hopefully of the same gender because I’m exploring my sexuality.”

_tuesday after school?_

Ricky thinks that Tuesdays are quite possibly the least sexy day of the week, but he doesn’t think EJ would find that very funny.

_don’t you have rehearsal?_

He sends the text before he realizes how creepy it sounds. There’s no reason why he should know that play rehearsals are Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday after school, let alone that EJ Caswell has to attend them.

_lol_

_first readthrough is on thursday_

There’s a pause, and then:

_nini?_

Ricky cringes, but he guesses it’s too much to ask that the entire school hasn’t heard about their breakup given that it’s already been a few weeks. The universe can’t be too kind, after all.

_yeah_

_tough_

_so tuesday?_

_sure_

_your place?_

_yeah. add me on snap i’ll send you the address._

_ecaswell19_

Ricky adds him quickly and tries not to be too embarrassed by his own handle. _rickyskates1000_ sounded a lot cooler when he was twelve. EJ sends him the address after adding him back. Ricky clicks on it and lets it load automatically in maps. He scrolls around the area, forehead scrunched because EJ lives in the middle of nowhere. This whole town is in the middle of nowhere, but EJ's house makes it look like New York City by comparison.

Ricky sees EJ start to type, and his breath catches.

_you can just follow me back from school._

_sure_

The whole thing feels oddly formal to Ricky, like they’re meeting to work on a school project or something. It’s not like he expects EJ to be exceedingly _warm_ , but a bit of that normal Caswell charm might make him less nervous. He wants to send another message, something like _can’t wait!_ or _see you then,_ but those both sound too eager and he’s not really sure he means them anyways.

\--

Tuesday comes. Ricky stares at the back of EJ’s neck in history, tries to imagine what it would be like to touch the soft skin above the collar of his shirt. His palms sweat the whole day, and when EJ nods at him in the hall after the final bell rings, he can’t really breathe.

Ricky unlocks the door to his car and feels his leg shaking up and down, a nervous tick. EJ pulls out in his gleaming, obnoxiously white truck, and Ricky follows, pulling out onto the street behind him.

It’s a cloudless, sunny day. Ricky rolls the windows down and turns his music up as far as his shitty decade-old speakers will let him. He watches as EJ does the same and lets his arm rest out the open window.

It’s perfect, in a sort of terrifying way.


End file.
